


An Argument As Old As Time

by sonicsora



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affectionate Aziraphale (Good Omens), Affectionate Crowley (Good Omens), Awkward Flirting, Bickering, Books, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, God is narrating, Humor, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Old Married Couple, Playful teasing, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Slow Romance, classic literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicsora/pseuds/sonicsora
Summary: If there is one thing Crowley enjoys, its irritating Aziraphale regularly. Beyond leading souls astray, what else does he have to do? (well quite a lot, but how can he not irritate a particularly insufferable angel?)Knowing the angel's penchant for classic literature and the written word, the demon has to find some entertainment by insisting the adaptions aremuchbetter. No matter how good or bad they are, he'll happily insist the adaptations are better than their source. Predictably, Aziraphale takes the bait every time. Books arealwaysbetter than movies as far as the angel is concerned.It is a long-standing game neither man are particularly willing to give up, not when petty bickering comes to them so easily.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	An Argument As Old As Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once again to my friend Kitty for this great idea :)! 
> 
> and yes, this is pre and post canon. Good Omens just be like that. 
> 
> Every book/bit o lit in narration will be underlined and italic'd for your pleasure. I was going to originally leave what was being read vague, but decided it'd be funnier if I went into a bit more detail.

Like all things, it started innocently enough as most things tend to. 

A passing comment turns into a proverbial war. Not the kinds of war one would expect a demon and angel to wage against one another. Certainly _not_ the coming of the Anti-Christ and the sweeping destruction therein. That in itself is a much grander story to be told at another time. Merely this is just a war of wits, delicate egos, and wagging tongues between two very stubborn unearthly entities. 

Aziraphale clicks his tongue against his teeth in a quiet kind of disapproval as he eyes a movie poster plastered across the walls of the local cinema as they pass the building. His brows pinch together as he looks back to Crowley. “There is certainly no way they can capture the essence of that book on the screen.” He states idly as the two walk together, drifting through the crowded sidewalk with more ease than they likely should. 

The demon arches a brow back curiously, “Oh, _really_?” He only briefly glances back to take in the posters. “Which one was it, Angel?” 

Aziraphale answers without much thought, which turns into him rambling a bit incoherently about the true art of literature. He motions easily with his hands as he speaks as Crowley watches him with a keen eye. The demon hums appreciatively enough to show he’s listening, reaching a casual hand up from his pockets to adjust his sunglasses. “I suppose we should see it.” 

Aziraphale pauses, thrown off by the statement. He eyes the other man warily. “Would you… want to?” It isn’t the first time they’ve gone somewhere together, but work has kept both of them distracted quite a bit. Much less from seeing any motion pictures when they are new. 

“If it has you this riled up, we should see if it's worth the attention.” Crowley offers ever so casually. That should be warning enough to the angel, but the blonde man misses it in the moment. 

Aziraphale simply releases a short terse breath. “I highly doubt it's worth any attention!” 

“Well, have you seen any of the reviews?” The question is phrased ever so innocently. Any other day Aziraphale would understand the demon is baiting him. Apparently, classic literature is enough to derail even the most experienced of Crowley Handlers. 

The angel opens and closes his mouth for a moment, just staring at the other man. “Well, no.” 

“So, it's worth giving it a fair shake, wouldn’t you say?” The demon questions with a quirk of his brow and flash of teeth in a smile. 

Aziraphale pauses for far longer than would be considered socially acceptable before sighing. The length of pause just delights the demonic entity far more than it should. “I suppose.” 

“Crepes after certainly would sweeten the pot, wouldn’t it?” Crowley drawls as he picks up the pace. “When was that movie coming out again? Wouldn’t be terrible to see it opening day?” 

The blonde man pauses, squinting. The temptation of crepes always seems to lull him into agreements. “Well… I suppose not. It was coming out within the next few weeks, the twenty-third if I read correctly.” 

“We’ll see it then.” Crowley draws a phone out of his pocket. “Care to pick a date? Wouldn’t want to have it meddle with work.” 

\--

This is hardly the first time Aziraphale has been baited by Crowley when it comes to adaptations. Really, given the angel’s fondness for written word and theater, it’s been a game the demon has quite found much amusement in. Getting a rise out of an angelic being about the adaptations of the written word is far easier than it should be. 

A foundation is built by one demon agitating an angel for his own amusement opposed to expectations of agitation for control over the tide of where a soul would be. Though, many souls were affected one particular night in Greece. 

“I cannot believe we’re watching this.” Aziraphale squirms in his seat, scowling behind his hands as a play unfolds on the stone theater below where they’re seated. The seating of the theater is atrocious. He ends up adjusting his toga uncomfortably, frowning to himself. “Meta commentary at its _worst_ …” 

Aziraphale is hardly the only one squirming in his seat trying to get comfortable. The humid heat that hangs over the crowd does little to make the mood any better. The Grecian Summer of 408 BC in particular is noted by those who experienced it for its sudden rise in temperature and cause for mild unrest amongst the locals of Thebes. Crowley finds mild amusement in how it edges on being just slightly hellish. Greece’s summers were hardly the most comfortable to say the very least. It is all but fitting given they were watching a play about a god going to the underworld. The man playing Dionysus all but stumbles through his lines, just making the play feel even agonizingly longer. 

“Are you still stuck on the written play being better?” Crowley all but questions with an amused look, “Here I thought you were a man of the arts.” He brushes some of his sweat sticky curls out of his face as he arches a brow back at the blonde man next to him. 

That line all but makes Aziraphale sputter in indignantly. “I am!” He gets louder than intended, and is shushed by another person in the bustle of bodies. Any further protest on his lips dies as the woman who shushed him leans forward to scowl at the angel. Her greying hair is on the edge of falling out of its overly complexly woven bun. 

“Some of us are trying to watch!” The rotund woman scolds the angel, narrowing her eyes disapprovingly at him. She’s just as sweaty and agitated as the rest of the crowd. Her agitation seems to only egg on further grumbling amongst other theater goers. 

“Yeah, you heard her, angel, we’re trying to watch.” Crowley intones ever so innocently with a flash of a smile. The smile would be charming if the angel didn’t know who just who he was talking with. Aziraphale just stares at Crowley for a long moment. “Are you _doing_ something?” 

The demon places a hand against his chest, “Me? Never.” 

“ _Crowley_ -” He starts to warn lowly before a crash down below startles him back to attention. 

The man playing Dionysus seemingly has fainted onto the man playing Xanthias. There is a long awkward pause before the rest of the cast scuttle out to check on the two. The crowd around them begins to murmur and shift awkwardly. Crowley all but sighs fondly balancing his cheek in his palm. “Ah, I do love theater.” 

\---

Even with the apparent arrival of the Anti-Christ, a casual game doesn’t quite disappear. 

After all, Nanny and Gardener do have lulls between imparting their influences upon Warlock. One can only use so many hours to impart heavenly or hellish influence on a human child. Warlock’s busy parents do make their own appearances to impart their own influence on the boy, be it, mixed. 

Nanny reclines ever so casually where she’s settled in her wicker chair, brushing her fingers across the front of her skirt to smooth non-existent wrinkles on the fabric. Even with the growing summer heat, the woman is somehow clad in nothing but black and untouched by the rising temperatures. She seems almost comfortable the hotter things get. 

She continues onwards with her line of thought as she looks at the boy over her sunglasses. “This is necessary watching for a growing mind such as yourself.” 

Warlock squints at her, sinking his teeth into an ice cream bar as he leans back where he’s settled on the top step of the front porch. “Is it?” His dark brown hair sticks to the back of his neck and face, he’s yet to brush it aside. 

“Certainly. Where else can you see the brutality of nature at its finest without getting into the wilds yourself.” She laces her gloved fingers together, tilting her head to the side. “Rarely do you see rabbits tear into each other in animated form anywhere else. Seeing is much better than merely reading about it.” 

Warlock hums thoughtfully at that, brows scrunching together in consideration. “Well, that sounds interesting. Far better than what Mother wanted to watch.” He takes another bite of his ice cream bar, on the edge of asking before an interruption of a familiar sort appears. 

“It is quite interesting, but- there is more to it than violence!” The Gardner calls casually from nearby, a clipping of flowers tucked into his gloved hands as he strides forward. The yellow flowers sway with the slight upkick of a breeze that comes with the sun starting to set. Oddly the gardener is equally overdressed for the weather. “It is based on a book you know!” 

The boy scrunches his nose at that, his interest waning considerably. “A _big_ book?” 

The blonde man falters just slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well, I wouldn’t say it is _that_ large...” 

“The movie is decidedly leaps and bounds better my dear.” Nanny cuts in without hesitation, rising from her seat. “Shall we watch it and see as much?” She folds her hands behind her back, arching a dark brow back down at the boy. Warlock nods his head eagerly, happy to actually see a movie Nanny seems actually enthused about. Normally the woman has an air of disinterest in everything. 

Nanny rising is more than enough for Warlock to stand as well, used to his Nanny’s odd behavior if anything at this point. “Do I have to read the book after?” 

“Certainly not.” Nanny casts the gardner a look, Warlock could almost read it as smug if not for sternness all but written into her features. The eight-year-old has to wonder if Nanny has other expressions sometimes. “Finish your treat and meet me inside.” She orders without hesitation before heading into the mansion. The clack of her practical flats echoes in the decadent estate of the Senator. 

The gardener chuckles quietly at Nanny’s exit before his attention shifts to Warlock. With a familiar ease, he babbles about the book to the child. The boy groans, acting put upon by the man’s presence but sits through the explanation. 

He is trying to pretend he isn’t at least a _little_ interested in reading the book now. It does sound more enjoyable than he’d like to actually admit. He doesn’t want to read outside of school, only ninnies do that. 

Warlock only realizes sometime later Nanny has set up the movie to play in the larger sitting room overlooking the garden. She even propped open the largest window, which the Gardener keeps peering in through. 

The eight-year-old only realizes belatedly Nanny has yellow flowers tucked behind her ear. The oddity of it all lingers on and off through the day in Warlock’s mind, before it is distracted out of his head by the usual thoughts a small child has.

Later that night he finds a copy of the book, _Watership Down_ , on his nightstand that night. It is suspiciously bookmarked with a few notes in margins of the pages for a book this new looking. Nanny heaves a world-weary sigh but still reads the book to him without hesitation. 

\---

The demon balances his cheek in his palm, brows pinching together as he watches Aziraphale babble. The movie has yet to start, but Aziraphale has gone off onto a tangent. The theater around them is all but empty, so there isn’t much of a chance for anyone eavesdropping on them. Not that Crowley is particularly worried about it. 

“One would think, a new suit would not be worth the effort of calling a meeting, but- _no_!” 

“Eh, bureaucracy at its finest, dear.” Crowley extends a box of jujubes towards Aziraphale with little hesitation dips his hand into the box to grab a handful. His mind drifts to Hastur not approving of his brilliant plans for the continued future of bitcoins. Genius was not appreciated in its time. Eventually, hell would understand a subtle approach was much better than bombast.

“Gabriel’s new suit wasn’t even that impressive! The cut and style does not fit his body type at all!” He rambles irritably, popping some of the candy into his mouth. Predictably the thick gummy candies stick to his teeth like cement trying to seal his mouth shut. 

The demon hums idly, settling the box back between them. “Still no idea what fashion is, ey?” 

“One would think they would know, but they are rarely down here.” He chews at the candy, grumbling to himself. “Fashion has changed! There are more cuts of suits!” He slaps his hand against the armrest of the chair in irritation. 

“Not too terrible, if they were more attentive, they would have a few questions about why we’re seeing this.” He gestures at the screen with the box of snacks in hand. Aziraphale pauses at that, his gaze flicking from Crowley to the screen. “Well…” The pause there makes Crowley shake his head somewhat. He likely shouldn’t have pointed that out. 

“A good adaption of The Great Gatsby speaks for the generation it was made in.” He offers, casually, almost uncaringly as he plucks up some candy for himself. 

Aziraphale latches onto the excuse readily, beaming back at the demon. “Yes!” He nods as he presses onwards, “Of course, it reflects so much about a current generation, especially with what liberties they’ve taken from the source material.” 

“I’m sure this will be great.” That single sentence seems to grate Aziraphale vaguely. The angel gives him a long wary look as he speaks. “We haven’t even seen it yet.”

Crowley pops a gummy into his mouth. His own teeth will stick together in mere moments. He was glad his corporeal form couldn’t get cavities or lose teeth very easily. “I have _high_ hopes.” 

\---

“Please, please tell me you are not reading _that_.” The question is all but dripping with disgust. It takes more effort than it should for Crowley to keep his expression decidedly neutral as he glances up from the dog eared paperback in hand.

“Oh? This?” He motions vaguely with the book itself before closing it. He reclines further back in his seat as Aziraphale walks forward past the potted plants nearby. 

He strides into the dark painted apartment like he owns it. Crowley has to admire that. It's still occasionally odd to have the angel walking around his apartment. “Not a fan of Jane Austen?” 

Aziraphale makes a few sputtering sounds, settling on indignant. “That is _not_ Jane Austen’s original work, and you know it!” He slaps a hand against the desk between them, squinting down at the other man. “Sea monsters do not belong in her work!” 

“A remix is hardly worth that much disgust, angel.” He flaps the book back at Aziraphale oh so casually. “Weren’t you the one who thought humans creativity was worth enduring, all of- that?” He ends up using the book to gesture directly at the angel in question.

Aziraphale just squints at him. “Oh, shush.” 

“Mhm, no.” He opens the book again, “I’m sure the movie based on this will be a true delight.” 

The blonde robust man gives a disapproving sound, shaking his head as he shuffles around the book shop. Crowley bites the inside of his cheek attempting to stifle his amusement at the reaction he garnered from the angel. 

The next day Aziraphale will find a new copy of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls_ on his bookstore’s front step wrapped in a particularly vibrant red bow. 

\--

Then, of course, the apocalypse happened. 

Typically, one is a bit more entrenched with the apocalypse than book adaptations. Though one night Crowley finds himself turning the book over in his hand just staring blankly at the cover as he contemplates specifics of what the world ending will be like. He will never get to irritate Aziraphale again. He hates how that pains him.

“Hnn.” He drops the book onto the floor carelessly. He kicks it aside, watching it ping against furniture from the force he used. “Damn it all, now I can’t rub it into his face that I actually read this tripe.” 

Luckily, or unluckily depending on who asks, Crowley _will_ be able to tell Aziraphale about reading the entirety of _Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters_ to watch the movie adaptation that had been coming out before the Anti-Christ came completely into power. 

The world does not end, it continues, be it awkwardly and a bit strangely.

All as it should be.

\--- 

“So?” 

The question hangs between them, almost for far too long as the two men stand outside of the local theater. Other patrons weave around them with barely a glance, talking amongst themselves as the night air grows cooler in a new world. The apocalypse hasn't changed much about the world around them in many ways. People still had no patience when it came to two men standing in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Aziraphale seems all but loathed to say the next words, grimacing around his sentence. “It wasn’t, _terrible_.” He struggles, clearly trying to find something negative to say, but stalls out. The demon can all but picture a car engine stalling out and puttering. 

Crowley arches a brow back at the plump man, “You did laugh, five times.” The fact he counted laughs earns an amused glance from the angel. Crowley doesn’t yield, still decidedly smug. Aziraphale just wants to tweak his nose in revenge, but takes the high ground as he should. 

The blonde man blows out a sigh, hooking an arm with Crowley’s. He tugs the man down the sidewalk into the foot traffic. “Do shut up, would you, dear? You’re an _insufferable_ sort.” 

The demon falls into step with Aziraphale with no hesitation, chuckling quietly to himself. He has to ask the next question, he can’t resist. “What did you think of the book I left for you?” 

The angel groans in irritation, shaking his head in open disapproval as he speaks. “We are _not_ seeing the movie that comes out for it.” 

“Are you sure?” Crowley fishes as he squeezes Aziraphale’s arm in his own. The pause that the question earns makes the demon’s smirk widen by several degrees. 

Aziraphale levels him a look and mutters. “Seeing a movie wouldn’t… hurt. I suppose.”


End file.
